Taking Umbridge
by E.C. Scrubb
Summary: The summer after the Triwizard tournament, A Beautiful French Veela with a Vendetta against Death Eaters is tasked by the Order to counter Umbridge, and protect Harry, Ron and Hermione. Sparks and spells fly at Hogwarts as the (AU) year unfolds towards a climatic ending that rocks the Ministry and wizarding world. (Harry/Fleur)


**CHAPTER ONE**

**WELCOME TO THE WAR**

"Papa's not home!"

A young Fleur Ysabelle stomped the heel of her flats on the parquet floor in front of a limestone fireplace. An old clock, hand-carved and spell-dependent to keep proper time, decorated the mantel.

Fleur looked slightly to the left of the clock and saw her favorite new picture. Papa, still in a tie and work robes, was chasing her around this very room. He caught her and lifted her high into the air as she squealed in delight, then set her down and chase her again. The picture was a week old, an entire week that she had to wait for him to fulfill the promise he made that evening to take her to their first father-daughter dinner.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"I'm sure Papa didn't forget." Her mother said. She set her dog-eared book on an antique table. "It's all he could talk about this morning."

Fleur pointed to the clock. "But the big hand is past the twelve!" She crossed her arms, confident in the impeccable logic of a three-year-old. Humor danced across her mother's features.

"Papa has an important job. Sometimes he has to work late, but he'll be home soon, and you'll crease your dress if you keep your arms crossed."

Azure blue eyes widened and the small girl streaked across the room to an old, three-pane mirror that hung on a paneled wall. She inspected the white dress. Maman was right, the front of it was wrinkled.

Her mother kneeled down next to her and passed her wand over the front of the dress a few times. Fleur watched, but with a typical child's attention span, she quickly became fascinated by way her mother's high cheekbones were slightly more prominent whenever she smiled. Maybe that was why Papa loved to kiss her there before he left for work?

"There, I think that fixed it," her mother said. She put away her wand and sat back down on the burgundy couch.

Fleur inspected the dress in the mirror's reflection, tracing a finger over the light pink flower stitched into the material just below the neckline. "Do you really think Papa will like it?"

"I think he'll love it," she answered. "Come sit with me and I'll tell you about all the funny things Papa did the first time we went out for dinner!"

An hour later, a familiar green light illuminated the fireplace. Fleur jumped up and ran across the floor, but she skidded to a halt as a stranger exited the floo. He was young and tall, but with deep-set eyes, gray hair, and a coal black suit; and when he spoke, her heart clutched in fear.

"Madame Ysabelle," his solemn voice resonated. "I have some terrible news . . . there has been an attack on your husband."

Her mother's hands began to shake against the arm of the couch as she blanched to a sickly pale color.

"_Maman_? What's wrong?"

"Your husband fought very bravely—"

"Oh, god no!" her mother cried.

Fleur grimaced from the metallic tasted that coated her mouth. _Maman's _bottom lip was quivering and she looked the same way she did the night that Papa told her _Mémé_. . . . "I want to see my Papa!" Fleur yelled. Her heart pounded, pushing trepidation through her veins.

But the Ministry worker, dressed in mourning clothes, shook his head with a sadness that reflected in eyes surrounded by wrinkles. He turned to her mother. "Madame Ysabelle, your husband was killed while protecting the lives of three Veela dignitaries."

Trepidation became loss, weighted in lead as it settled in the pit of Fleur's stomach. "He can't be!" she yelled. "Papa promised that he'd. . . ."

"I'm sorry," The old man answered, his voice shaking. "I'm so very sorry."

Fleur ran into the waiting arms of her now sobbing mother. She would never get to see her beloved Papa again, or get to show him her new, pink-flowered dress, or cheer her on as she faced a dragon in the Tri-Wizard tournament. He was gone, forever.

Wait . . . a dragon?

**~ . ~ . ~**

"Papa!" Fleur Isabelle Delacour shot straight up into the night. The sheets cinched tightly against her chest and pulled her back down to the bed. She gasped for breathe and flailed about, trying to free herself when she hit something hard on the nightstand.

"Damn!"

She reached for her wand and cast a charm that bathed the room in a yellow glow, and then glanced at the drinking glass now lying on its side, water coursing along the top of the nightstand and down to the white carpet below. Next to the downed glass sat a night clock. She'd only been asleep for a little over an hour and a half.

Fleur flopped down on her pillow again, her heart racing from the haunted dreams, but they were better than the nightmares the memories usually spawned – Death Eaters in silver masks and black robes cutting down her father in front of both her and her mother. When the nightmares grew particularly dark and violent, the Death Eaters would laugh as they used Flesh-Boiling or Melting Curses on her stepfather and half-sister as well.

Fleur remembered that laughter. She remembered everything from the trial of her father's murderers in explicit detail: every robe and mask that was presented as evidence, every cruel word the Death Eaters spoke, and every arrogant smirk they flashed.

Fleur squeezed her eyes shut and willed away the scenes that danced through her mind. There was no need to dwell on it now, not after everything that had happened tonight. Then again, if what people were saying was right . . . it had to be! she concluded. Cedric didn't die on his own, and the little she knew about Harry Potter, there was no way he would have killed—no, it had to be right! And that meant that they were back.

Maybe, just maybe, if she stood opposed, if she fought back, she could finally begin to exorcise the nightmares. It'd be a long, hard battle, and there was no guarantee that she would live, or that it would be worth the price if she did.

But what if it was?

The cool night air wiped any remaining vestiges of sleep away a few minutes later as she crossed the lawn and stepped into the dark corridors of the castle. She paused at the hospital wing and took a breath. All she had to do was ask him if _he _was back, and then watch his reactions. It was that easy . . . wasn't it?

Fleur gathered her courage, and pushed open one of the thick, wooden door.

"_EVERTE STATUM!" _A young, male voice bellowed from the far end of the deep room. The curse leapt across the distance to Fleur's right. A shadow moved and a green light blossomed into a shield, flaring when the curse deflected off it into the ceiling in an explosion of light.

Fleur blinked, and missed the shadow casting a darkish red curse. It raced back through the darkness to her left, and slammed against flesh with a sickening thud. The outline of a person went down hard against the stone floor.

"_Avada—_" the shadow began.

And Fleur immediately knew to which side she belonged. A sharp stab and a flick of her wand caused a large table with scores of potion-filled vials to jump into the air. The curse exploded against it, peppering the far side of the room with splinters of wood and glass, not to mention numerous potions. Two cries of pain drew Fleur's attention that way. One came from the person on the floor; the other from just behind a weakened _Protego _Shield that Fleur just now noticed was covering a bed.

Something in her head screamed at her to duck, and she dropped down hard against the cold floor, crushing her chest. She swallowed back the ensuing vomit at the same time a curse streaked just a few feet over her head, splitting the door with an ear-piercing _Crack! _Two voices rang out from the far side of the wing and she took advantage of the distraction, crawling to shelter behind an overturned bed.

"_Reducto_!"

"_Cyaneus Ignis_!"

A Blue-bell flame? The spells streaked back to her right and impacted the wall where the shadow stood a second earlier. Stone and blue fire rained down upon the beds, tables, and whatever else was over there. Holy hell! she swore to herself. Simple spells to be sure, the casters were probably young, and whoever cast that _Reducto _had little finesse, but the sheer force in both spells was beyond impressive.

The wizard in the shadows stood up in the twilight of the remaining Bluebell flames. "Little Bastards!" he yelled, and his wand twisted in the air.

But Fleur was faster. "_Bombardia!_" The spell caught the left leg, shattering bone when another curse from her left struck him hard in the chest. It snapped his legs out from underneath him and drove him backwards to the floor. His head impacted against the hard surface with a wet slap that echoed off the walls, followed by a quick, uncoordinated death-twitch that seemed too loud in the now otherwise silent room.

"Is Harry okay?" A shaky voice on the far side of the room asked after a few seconds. A boy, Fleur realized.

"I think he's still asleep. Those must of been some strong potions." The other voice answered, this one female. A couple more seconds of silence dragged on before she added. "Did you see who entered the room?"

"No, but I'm about to find out."

"Ron, be careful!"

Fleur cast a _Lumos_ Spell so she could be seen by the boy, and the hospital wing took on the eerie glow of wand light. At the same time, a putrid smell of released bowels filled the air and she covered her nose and mouth with the front of her robe.

"Who are you?" the boy asked. His wand extended towards her. Fleur slowly turned to look at him. "You're the Beauxbatons Champion, what in the hell are you doing here?"

"Ron, language!"

He ignored the rebuke and continued to stare at Fleur.

She pushed her shoulders back, let her robes drop back into place, and adopted the arrogant tone that had intimidated so many others. "It is none of your business. I am here to speak with 'Arry. And I'd appreciate it if you would get zhe wand out of my face."

"No," the boy growled. "Get out." He flicked his wand towards the door, gesturing for her to lead the way.

When she didn't move, a hand came down on her arm and she found herself tossed unceremoniously to her rear-end on the cool floor of the corridor. She looked up to find the boy standing over her, his wand trained exactly where her heart should be.

"I remember you!" she spat. "You asked me to the Yule ball."

"Yeah, me and probably half the school."

Fleur glared at him, and noticed the swollen eye, the torn robes, and the gashes all over his body caused by her choice in items to block the Killing Curse. She closed her eyes and made a concerted effort to soften the way she was presenting herself, then opened them again to look at the boy who a few months ago, couldn't walk and cast a spell at the same time in her presence. There was no doubt that he could do it now, or would do it, for that matter. Something in his eyes had changed, even from this afternoon.

"Maybe," she finally equivocated, "but I also remember that you helped 'Arry pull my little sister out of the lake." She gestured towards the room. "What happened?"

"Durmstrang's Headmaster decided to kill Harry."

She shook her head. The words were there, but they weren't making sense. "Karkaroff? Kill 'Arry? Are you sure?"

"Bloody right I am! He came in and asked for Harry. Madame Pomfrey stopped him and he pulled out his wand and cursed her on the spot."

It had to linked, she thought to herself. And that meant that it was even more important to see Harry, to hear the truth straight from his mouth, to look in his eyes when he confessed that Voldemort and his demons had been conjured up from the past. But how to get passed—

A much older voice interrupted her thoughts. "That will be enough, Mister Weasley. I am sure Harry is very appreciative of your protection."

She looked up to see Dumbledore in splendid purple robes with gold trim standing behind Ron in the doorway with his arms clasp behind his back. He nodded towards Fleur but kept his eyes on the boy as he spoke.

"I don't think any harm should befall Harry by allowing a few minutes for Miss Delacour to visit, do you?"

After a firm look from Dumbledore, Ron pocketed his wand and offered her a hand. But sitting on her derriere and bested by a fourth year, Fleur flushed red and batted it away before hearing a soft rumble of laughter.

"Miss Delacour, a Weasley controlling a temper is an honor to behold. May I suggest you accept his offer to help you regain your feet?"

She ground her teeth in frustration and acceded, but was surprised at how dainty her hand seemed by comparison to his. The boy leaned back and pulled her upright, letting go as soon as possible.

"Good. Now, Mister Weasley, please inform Miss Granger that Harry has a visitor and needs a peck of time alone with our young friend. If need be, inform her that I have approved."

"He was sleeping, and—"

"And he's awake now," Dumbledore finished the sentence.

The boy nodded, "Madame Pomfrey?"

"I'm afraid she's seriously injured."

His voice softened. "She's not going to . . . ?"

"No," Dumbledore answered. "She will be alright eventually. It seems she still had an Emergency Medical Portkey on her and arrived straightaway at St. Mungos. A fortuitous set of circumstances." He turned his gaze to Fleur. "And a most fortuitous night, I believe."

The boy glared at Fleur again and then disappeared into the hospital wing. The door closed, and Dumbledore chuckled. "He seems to have taken a liking to you. Help me fix this door, would you?"

Fleur nodded and cast the proper Charms for the left side of the entrance while Dumbledore did the same for the right. Finished, he turned to her. "Now you'll have a little more privacy for your discussion, though I ask that you keep it short. Also, if I may impose on you, I would like you to stop by my office after your visit for a few, short minutes."

"Yes, Headmaster." She paused, and felt a pang of nervousness at what that meeting could mean. "Am I in trouble?"

Dumbledore gave her a warm smile. "Of course not, but if you would feel more comfortable, Madame Maxime is most welcome to accompany you, though be assured it is not necessary."

"Thank you, sir, I'll come alone then."

"Splendid. The password is Candy Corn . . . a delightful Muggle treat by the way." He turned on his heal when the door opened again and a bushy-haired girl stepped out. Fleur recognized the girl as Krum's date for the Yule Ball.

"Come," Dumbledore said to the two of them. "You have seen quite enough for one evening and as usual, your actions reflect remarkably well on yourselves and your House."

Fleur caught her breath as the girl named Ms. Granger led the boy out of the hospital wing. His eyes were vacant, but not in the same way she was used to seeing. This time, it was shock, she thought. Of course—his mind would be trying to fend off images and memories as he wrestled with the fact that he had just killed another wizard.

Fleur watched as the girl led him by the hand, following Dumbledore down the corridor and around the corner, and was unable to name the emotions that surged inside of her. The closest she could come, was anger at his hostility.

She pushed it away to deal with another time and walked into the hospital wing to see Harry. Two bloodshot eyes opened in a mass of bruised flesh to greet her. Her stomach tightened at the pain evident in his grimace.

"'Arry, I'm sorry to bother you, but. . . " her voice trailed off when the quietest of sighs escaped his lips.

"Voldemort's alive and Cedric was killed by a Death Eater. Anything else?" he asked, barely loud enough to hear.

Fleur stared at him, searching for tell-tales that he was lying: eyes moving off her, hands fluttering towards his face or digging into a blood-encrusted ear, but in the dim light of the moon and the few candles that were still lit, there was no sign of deception. She laid a hand on the back of his and gave it a delicate squeeze. "_Non_, thank you, I will let you rest."

She began to leave, but stopped at the foot of the bed. "One last thing, _Monsieur_ Potter, I was wrong." Confusion lined his face, or was that pain? "I called you a 'leetle boy' the night the Goblet chose the Champions, but you are far from it. I am sorry for my words."

She turned sharply and walked out of the hospital wing, knowing all too well how death could force someone to grow up long before his time, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just seen it again; twice actually, remembering the friend who had just killed to save Harry's life. And make no mistake about it, she thought, remembering the ferocity of the spells he was casting, that boy was willing to kill to save his friend.

Fleur descended a set of stairs into another corridor still thinking about what had just happened—and stopped mid-stride. The Headmaster of Durmstrang was a Death Eater at one time, wasn't he? Was he? Dammit! She'd have to floo her _Maman _to get her books on the Death Eater trials. Either that or she could ask someone who was there . . . like the Hogwarts Headmaster. Fleur raced through the corridors towards his office.

"Was the 'Eadmaster of Durmstrang a Death Eater?" she asked as soon as she entered.

"Please, Miss Delacour, have a seat," he answered, avoiding her question.

Fleur did so, and took a moment to admire the deep mahogany fabric that covered the wingback chair before pressing the issue. "With all due respect, 'Eadmaster, I would like to know about Monsieur Karkaroff."

Dumbledore stared off into the distance for an uncomfortably long time before he answered. "I do not understand how discussing another person's life would benefit you."

Fleur clenched her teeth together, counted to three, twice, and then took a breath. "It is another factor that contributes to me believing 'Arry's story."

"Believing Harry's story?"

The Headmaster leaned back and closed his eyes. "At a flick of a wizard's wand, glorious and wonderful things are conjured, transfigured, and returned to their original state; but when a wizard's word is questioned, the most powerful weapon becomes the most brittle."

"I'm sorry," Fleur said. "It is late and English is a second language for me. I don't understand."

"Maybe a more straightforward explanation will suffice. Harry's word has been questioned repeatedly, even though he has been nothing but truthful. Only a very few believed Harry when he pleaded his innocence at the beginning of this year, yet his innocence is now obvious." Dumbledore leaned forward, his clear, blue eyes now boring in on hers. The intensity of his magic was just short of oppressive. "Yet, you sit before me; once again questioning an integrity that has no reason to be questioned, do you not?"

Fleur swallowed hard, but made the decision not to back down. "I trust that 'Arry is telling what he believes to be the truth, but . . . what if it's just that? What if the memory was planted? What if someone is trying to keep the fear of a Dark Lord alive? It is not difficult to plant a memory by force on one so young, no?"

"An astute question, I must admit." Dumbledore nodded. "Very well then, yes, it is possible, though not likely for a number of reasons that would make a lovely lecture. But considering the late hour, let us assume the lecture has already been given, and move on to a question of more importance."

The intensity of Dumbledore's presence changed, but it didn't lessen. "How will it affect you if Harry is telling the truth?"

Fleur bit her bottom lip, not sure that she wanted the conversation veer in this direction, but she decided to answer the question all the same. "Then I would have a very important decision to make."

"I see." The intensity in the room ceased. "May I offer you a lemon drop while we wait for tea?" Dumbledore raised a crystal bowl towards her.

"I . . . ." She shook her head, confused by the non-sequitur.

"The discussion we're about to have always goes better with tea," he said offhandedly. "The lemon drops are to fill the time until it arrives."

"I'm sorry?" she said, hoping to stall for a few seconds. Her heart hammered in her chest at the implied discussion. Exactly what did he read in her questions? What did he sense about her future plans?

Dumbledore set the bowl down on his desk. "I can see that I have caught you by surprise," he began. "Let me start this conversation again—the proper way. Monsieur Ysabelle was a good man."

Fleur's eyes widened. "You . . . you knew my Papa?"

"I did, though not well. We spoke a few times during the last war. I mourned his death, as did many in the Order. I hadn't had a chance to meet your step-father, Monsieur Delacour, until just before the second task this year, but he too has a reputation as a good wizard."

She was gobsmacked.

Dumbledore pushed the lemon-drops towards her again. "Maybe you'd like to reconsider. I do have experience with these conversations."

An hour later, the last of the tea was finished and Dumbledore pushed his chair back from the desk. "And now, I shall retire as it has been a long day for us all. I'll have two of our female Prefects escort you to Madame Maxime's delightful carriage."

"Thank you," she said, though a question still niggled at her. Fleur tried to work up the courage while Dumbledore called a house-elf to alert the Prefects, and was lost in her thoughts when she heard him chuckle for the third time that night.

"One problem I have found with intellect," he began, "is the curiosity it conjures. As such, I think we shall simply pretend that you have already asked me the question you're currently entertaining. This way, I may answer it before our lovely Prefects arrive."

Fleur was gobsmacked again.

"You want to know about the Order of the Phoenix."

She noticed that it wasn't a question. "_Oui,_" she managed.

He looked down at his empty cup and set it on the tray. "It was a secret group I created to fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters during the war. _Monsieur _Ysabelle was in a similar organization through the French government, which is how I knew him. Many of our finest wizards and witches were a part of it.

"And now, I feel that you have yet another question to ask, and if I am right, which, if I may say so, I often am, you need to ask this one for yourself."

Fleur blinked, and then blinked again before she found her tongue. "After tonight, it's starting again, no?"

Dumbledore nodded. "It is, though I ask that you not share that information with anyone." Fleur sat completely still, in sharp contrast to the turmoil raging within her. "And if I may," he continued, "that's not the question you wanted to ask, either."

She closed her eyes. Wasn't this what she wanted—the chance to strike back at those who killed her father? All she had to do was ask, and yet . . .

"Sometimes, we are not as ready as we may have hoped," Dumbledore said. "I will be in France the last Saturday in June to call on Madame Maxime. You can ask your question then, and I will say yes."

"Thank you, 'Eadmaster," she choked out.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Two months later, the sharp click of Fleur's heals echoed in the dank kitchen, drawing unwanted attention as she stepped back and closed the door. At least smell of rat droppings and mildew that had assaulted her in the hallway lessened. She sat in the closest chair and forced herself to relax as she looked around. At the head of the heavy mahogany table sat Dumbledore, affable and charming, but she knew not to doubt the power and strength that lay underneath the façade.

Next to him was the only other _half-breed—_she made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat at the way he and she were viewed by society—in the Order. He looked worn, worse than that, really. Whatever she faced as a part-Veela, it didn't match what the man across the table had to endure, either man, she decided, as she looked at Sirius Black, the owner of the mausoleum of a house they were currently meeting in.

There were others seated on the old benches and chairs. That Auror next to Sirius was just three years older than Fleur, with spiky, pink hair and an errant demeanor; the witch next to her was the mother of some famous Quidditch player; on the other side sat a row of redheads plus a couple professors from Hogwarts, and scattered amongst them were others that she hadn't yet met.

Her heart sank a little as she gazed again at the redheaded family. William was sitting among them. He was sweet, a proper gentleman, and even good looking, but the timing couldn't have been more wrong. She couldn't afford that kind of attachment now, not after watching what her mother went through after her father's death.

". . . And while some of you have met her already, let this be Miss Delacour's formal welcome into the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore concluded.

She pulled herself back to the moment. "Thank you, 'eadmaster."

Dumbledore's tone softened. "I must encourage you to call me Albus. Proper first names are a reminder of who we really are—not who we're made up to be, something that will do well for us to remember in these days of Tom Riddle's return.

"Tom Riddle?" two or three people repeated.

"Yes," Albus answered. "That is the given name of Voldemort."

Many sitting around the table shuddered. "I'll also ask that all of you learn to refrain from flinching at his name—any of them, to be exact," Albus rebuked them. "To speak a name, is to have power over it and the fear that it is supposed to instill, but as long as you cannot say his name, Tom has already won a great battle within your very soul. Therefore . . ."

Fleur watched Albus closely as he continued, and then changed brooms and began working through the agenda. She was impressed with his understated power, but not so much the substance of the meeting, at least not yet.

"And now," he said, checking off another item, "we come to the question of changing beliefs among Purebloods on the continent. Fleur, what can you tell us about France?"

She was a little surprised to hear her name called and cleared her throat. "The bigotry is plain to anyone who cares to look. My stepfather's business now suffers because his wife is Veela. My half-sister and I shopped in Muggle stores over the summer because we were 'arassed or weren't helped in the Magical shops."

"What have you heard about legislation?" the werewolf asked, his voice sounded as tired as he looked.

She briefly wondered why he would be here after the full moon last night, but dismissed it. "There aren't enough Purebloods in power to affect the laws . . . yet. At least, that's what my mother keeps saying. I didn't pay much attention to politics while I was there."

"Thank you," Albus said. "It is a shame that the same isn't true of our own Wizengamot. While not yet overt, certain Pureblood members are readying themselves to push through a most grotesque agenda."

"Makes us proud to be one of them, doesn't it?" William's brother asked, looking across the table.

Sirius grunted. "At least you can be proud of your last name." He turned to Dumbledore. "Do we know where Fudge lands on the issue of non-Pureblood rights this week?"

"Wherever the most money is," Mr. Weasley interjected. Fleur couldn't remember his first name. "That means he lands in the pockets of the Malfoys, Notts, and LeStranges, which equates to an agenda that'll likely be driven by Undersecretary Umbridge."

Heads shook around the table, accompanied by a few moans.

"Dolores Umbridge, interesting how that name keeps coming up," Albus said a little too casually. Fleur noticed every pair of eyes turn to him and the tension in the room ratcheted up considerably.

"Would you care to explain?" someone asked him.

"It seems I should. By a mixture of fortune and sweat, I've learned that Secretary Umbridge will be at the hearing tomorrow and our esteemed Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge is presiding. It looks now to be a full trial."

William's hand slammed down on the table, causing a couple people to jump. "The only reason Fudge is presiding over this is so he can assure Harry's wand is snapped. He's trying to protect his own arse and everyone knows it."

"What?" Fleur interjected. She replayed the words, but still couldn't make any sense of it. "What could 'e have possibly done to deserve a full trial?"

"In Wizarding Britain?" the female Auror said. Then she scowled as she spat out the answer to her own question, "Anything."

"But . . . how could . . . What did he do?" Fleur asked.

"The same thing he normally does," Bill said, to a few chuckles.

Albus clarified, "Harry protected himself and his cousin from two Dementors."

Fleur's jaw dropped. "A _Patronus_?" Wait, why was the werewolf looking right at her and smirking?

"Yeah, a full, corporeal _Patronus_," he answered, and the smirk grew into a full-fledged smile. "Harry learned it the year before when I was his Defense professor."

She shook her head in disbelief.

"I think you'll find," Albus continued, "that he, Mister Weasley, and Miss Granger are full of surprises, which, sadly, leads me to the next item on the agenda. If we can avoid Harry losing his wand tomorrow, I believe there will be an even larger problem during the school year.

"The Ministry has informed me that it is taking advantage of a caveat in the charter of Hogwarts. Fudge has taken it upon himself to fill the empty teaching post of Defense against the Dark Arts.

Mister Weasley groaned and placed his head in his hands. "Please tell me that's not why I saw Dolores boxing up the books in her office today."

"I'm afraid so," Albus answered. "I fear that she intends to stamp out any belief in the 'myth' that Voldemort is back, and while she's at it, I suspect that she'll also try to advance her agenda: Pureblood superiority, negation of Muggle-born rights, the banning of other sentient magical beings, she intends on casting the whole spell."

"You know what that means," Molly cut in. Fleur remembered her from the previous year when the Champions introduced their families to each other. "She'll aim straight for Harry, and Hermione's not far behind him since she's Muggle born. We need find a way to protect them."

"I quite agree," Albus said, unruffled by the interruption. He looked straight at Fleur. "But the question is, how?"

Fleur closed her eyes. So that was the reason she was invited to lunch at Beauxbatons last week. . . .

". . . Have you given any thought to teaching?" Olympe asked, leading Fleur into her office.

"Not really, 'Eadmaster."

Olympe made her way to one of the massive bookshelves that lined the paneled walls. "You're no longer my student, Fleur. Please, call me Olympe." She pulled out two books from the shelf and set them down on the glass table next to Fleur. "You should. I suggest you read these. They're primers in magical education. You can keep them; I have two or three copies of each."

"But," Fleur began to protest, "even if I did want to teach, I'm nowhere near old enough."

Olympe sat in her chair. "I believe even part-Veela reach adulthood at fifteen, which means you have been considered an adult for three years already, and with your exam scores, you easily qualify to be a teacher's assistant with lecture responsibility."

Fleur lifted an eyebrow. "Are you offering me a position?"

"Oh, no," Olympe feigned embarrassment. The half-giant was pretty good at it, Fleur thought. "I'm sorry, but we don't have any positions open at the moment. If you are interested in teaching however, there is a somewhat outdated exchange program with the other Magical schools that you could participate in. One of them will probably have a need shortly. "Just keep it in mind for the future," Olympe said with a grin, the feigned embarrassment gone. "Right now, it's probably best if you establish yourself at Gringotts and read the primers."

"What course?" Fleur asked, cutting across the conversations that had cropped up in the kitchen. She stared at Albus. "You must have considered that as well, or did Olympe help you decide?"

His eyes danced. "Beauty is passing, but an intellect serves you well your entire life. Unfortunately, there are many who cannot see such intellect when it concerns Veela, or other non-human sentient beings for that matter."

A nasty smile crawled across Fleur lips. Was she really being handed an opportunity this easily? If what he said about that Umbridge women were true . . . the subject matter was _perfect_. "Did you enjoy your conversation with Professor Lambert?" she asked, just to make sure she was reading him correctly.

"It was quite enlightening. The Professor speaks very highly of you, and your teaching ability."

The smile grew larger.

"Albus?" Professor McGonagall began. "Would you mind sharing with the rest of us?"

He leaned back in his chair, his entire demeanor lit up in a good humor. "Since you've asked, Minerva, I believe Hogwarts is about to reinvigorate an old agreement, but only, of course, if the lovely Fleur is willing to agree."

All eyes turned to her.

"I will expect full support from the senior faculty," she answered.

"Of course—" he answered. But Minerva cut in again.

"Albus! Not only as a member of the Order, but as the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, I would like to know what you are planning."

He looked at Minerva. "I believe the time has come to again invoke the Teacher Exchange Program with Beauxbatons," he began. "As it turns out, caveats in charters and agreements can work to our advantage as well. I have recently come to understand that if Fleur is able to find a place to teach this year, darling Olympe is willing to hire her as a teacher's assistant with lecture responsibility. She would then be seconded to whatever school has provided the opportunity through the exchange program."

"What about the Board of Governors?" Moody asked. Fleur remembered him, or at least his imposter, from the night the names were drawn from the cup.

Albus placed his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers. "They have no authority over faculty decisions at Beauxbatons. And since the agreement between the schools, which the Board of Governors signed a century and a half ago, specifically states that it is solely the Headmaster's responsibility to accept or reject an exchange teacher, they have no say in the matter."

Dumbledore looked pleased with his ability to be cunning, which, Fleur had to admit, was quite spectacular, in a slightly scary way.

"What subject will you be teaching?" Molly asked.

Fleur noticed the friendly but disapproving tone. "It seems I will be teaching '_Les Êtres Sensible Non Humains_' I believe it translates to 'Non-human Sentient Beings.'"

"And your qualifications?" she pushed. Fleur bit down on her tongue to stop herself from saying the first thing that came to mind.

"I believe that question falls within my domain," a slightly peeved Minerva announced, then she turned towards Fleur, "but since it has been asked, I too would like to know."

"My qualifications . . ."

Minerva nodded.

"You must mean other than the fact that I myself am a non-human sentient creature, yes?" Fleur was mostly successful in keeping the edge out of her voice, even if the question was ignorant, as far as she was concerned. "Be assured I have the experience to teach the class."

Eyebrows raised around the table and in response, Fleur spat out her CV. "Two years ago, Professor Lambert had to assist in our version of 'Care of Magical Creatures.' In turn, she asked me to become a teacher's aide to help with her classes. I ended up teaching Sentient Beings for the first years; by the end of the fall term, she handed over the class completely. I taught it the rest of the year, and the following year as well. I would have taught it last year if it wasn't for the tournament."

Fleur leaned forward and raised her voice. "As for credentials, I received the highest possible marks in each of my seven years in the subject, not to mention scoring in the ninety-third percent tile overall on the tests that approximate your OWLS and NEWTS. Beyond that, I have made the study of Sentient Beings the focus of my education."

Fleur pinned Molly with a glare. "As for my motivation, if you so choose to ask, my Papa stood for the rights of all Sentient Beings, and I intend to take up his fight, which is why I have joined the Order."

"While you do seem well qualified," Molly began, and then turned to Albus. "This is still a very bad idea. First, she is a Veela and—"

The room erupted.

"SILENCE!" Albus demanded. "Every person sitting around this table knows Molly too well to think she speaks bigotry. Allow her to explain her position before we shout in ignorance." He turned to her. "I do ask however, that you clarify yourself so Fleur does not get the wrong impression of you."

Molly nodded, and met Fleur's continued glare. "I could really care less whether you were a Veela, a half-giant, or a hippogriff. My concern is that you will encounter a number of students and a Professor who thinks very differently than I do, and that view will be encouraged at all times by Dolores Umbridge, which makes Hogwarts a very dangerous place for you."

She turned back to the rest of the Order. "THAT! is the reason I am against her teaching this year." She scowled. "Or do you all believe that my family carries the title, 'blood-traitor' for no reason?"

Fleur noticed every member of the Weasley family silently agreeing with the matriarch, and wondered if the same would be true if the youngest male were in the room. She wasn't sure of the answer after the way he treated her last spring.

"Albus," Minerva said in the ensuing silence. "Molly has a very good point. Despite what you may believe about 'seeing the best in each student,' we have a group of Slytherins that would look upon Fleur as nothing more than a contemptible half-breed and treat her likewise, not to mention the children of previously suspected Death Eaters that have been sorted into other houses.

"If things get out of hand this year—and I remind you, somehow they always do around Potter—I shudder to think what might happen to Fleur, and I fear what Potter would do in response. You know as well as I do that he would take matters into his own hands and it is inevitable that if he were involved, Weasley and Granger would be as well."

Fleur slapped the table. "Zhis is foolish! It would be my job to protect them! So unless any of you 'ave objections to me teaching because I am part-Veela, there is no reason I should not be at 'Ogwarts this year."

"I have three reasons!" Molly shot back, then raised her hand and ticked names off on her fingers. "Harry, Ron, Hermione. Every year one of them is almost killed at that school, not to mention my youngest daughter. By sending you to counter Umbridge, we're not protecting them, we're tempting the fates to finish the job, and maybe even take you with them."

Mr. Weasley laid a hand on Molly's shoulder and she took a breath before continuing. "I shouldn't have raised my voice. I'm sorry, but every year a child that I at least in part consider mine comes close to dying while fighting off some unimaginable evil at that school. I hope you can understand why I'm not exactly happy about throwing exploding potion into a burning cauldron."

A man Fleur recognized as the Hogwarts Potions Professor rolled his eyes. "There's no such thing—"

Molly cut him off. "Belt up! It's a figure of speech." She took another deep breath before addressing Fleur again. "Tell me something. I happen to know through Bill that you're starting a new job at Gringotts next week, so why are you willing to give that up? Why do you want this so bad?"

Fleur's heart hammered in her chest and memories flooded her mind. Those first two years after Papa died, hiding under the bed while _Maman_ destroyed every glass, vase, and picture in the house in a whiskey soaked rage night after night. After that, visiting the hospital, afraid that _Maman_ had gone the way of the widowed Veela. Even years later, the nightmares that still haunted her, the pain of growing up without her father, the longing when she saw Gabrielle with her natural maman and papa. Why do I want this so bad? Oh, let me count—

"It's a fair question," Mr. Weasley interrupted her thoughts. "Molly and I feel like we've pretty much adopted Harry and Hermione, at least in the magical world. Please understand this is nothing against you, we just fear for what they will have to endure, again."

Fleur wrestled to get her emotions under control. But before she succeeded, Albus answered for her. "Fleur's story is rather too personal to share, but I beg of you to remember her father, Monsieur Ysabelle. Also remember that he suffered the same fate as Gideon and Fabian Prewett, and for the same reasons; and recall, if you will, what Veela go through when they lose a mate, then remember that Fleur lived through it firsthand."

Molly caught her breath and stared at Fleur. After an incalculable amount of time, Molly said, "Please keep them safe, and trust me when I say, they will do the same for you." She quietly stood up, stepped over the bench, and left the kitchen.

"Are there any other questions?" Albus asked in a muted voice.

When no one spoke up, he continued. "Fleur, I suggest you spend the rest of the summer in France preparing for your lessons, for countering Umbridge, and for keeping an eye out for Harry and the others. It is a large task and you would do well to consult with the professors here concerning how you would best go about it. Olympe and Professor Lambert have also offered their services. Please take them up on it.

"I am also informed that the male population will be somewhat immune to Veela charm after a few weeks of consistent exposure in a classroom, is that correct?"

Fleur nodded. "I am only a Quarter Veela. Trashy bodice rippers aside, my draw is very weak and easily overcome by those who wish to do so. In a classroom setting, I suspect that it will be overcome by most in one to two weeks."

"Good. I would also suggest that you think about beginning a French club. I know Miss Granger would thoroughly enjoy it, and getting her squarely in your corner will help you tremendously when it comes to keeping an eye out for the three of them. But make no mistake; she will be right there with them if anything goes awry."

When the meeting broke up a little later, Molly approached her. "May we speak for a moment?"

"_Oui_," she said, not giving the English witch the dignity of returning a response in her language.

"I want you to know that I meant what I said. I'm worried about Ron, Harry, and Hermione; Ginny and the twins to a lesser extent, but I'm also concerned for you. I know Dolores Umbridge, we went to school together and she's as arrogant as she is wrong. Be careful Fleur, because she doesn't just hate you, she detests you for existing; you, your headmistress, Hagrid . . . families like mine are only half a step above as well."

"I will," she answered, still choosing to remain somewhat aloof.

"I also meant it when I said I understood. Gideon and Fabian were my brothers and we were very close. I was lucky Arthur was with me when I heard the news, but I was already half way out the door before he could stopped me."

"What – what were you going to do?" she asked.

"I knew who the other Purebloods were, and everyone knew which ones were probably Death Eaters. I was headed out for paybacks. Later, I realized that even though I would have got my revenge—and trust me, I may not look it now, but I was the bee's knees in dueling back then—I would've also been killed at some point, and then what would've happened to my family?" She shook her head. "Please be careful, for my children, including Harry and Hermione, and for yourself as well. If you ever need to talk, or get away from there, my home will be open to you."

Fleur closed her eyes and nodded. She couldn't help but smile after being the recipient of a Molly Weasley hug, either.

She turned away, and right into a waiting Minerva. "I want to make sure that you understand, you have my full support and help."

"Thank you," Fleur answered. "I think I may have assumed more than I should've. I'm sorry."

Minerva's tight lined lips relaxed. "That's quite alright. Please remember, I consider Hagrid a dear friend. That should be enough to explain my beliefs, correct?"

She smiled. "It is."

"Good, where are you staying this evening?" Minerva asked.

"The Three Broomsticks, until I find my own apart . . . I guess I won't need to do that now, will I?"

"I think not," Minerva answered. "Accompany me to Hogwarts and I'll send one of our House-elves to fetch your personal items. You can move into your room tonight."

"_Merci_," Fleur answered, and was rewarded with a small but caring smile.

"And after, if you would fancy a cuppa tea with me, we'll figure out how to keep Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger safe this year . . . and you as well. In truth, I understated my concern when I said that I fear what those three would do if something happened to you."

Fleur raised an eyebrow and Minerva gave her a rueful chuckle. "Welcome to Hogwarts, I guarantee this will be a year you'll never forget."

**A/N **And that's chapter 1. I hope you enjoyed it. For my fic, When a Veela Cries, I'm waiting to receive my chapter back from my last beta, and then I'll post it. So expect that to be up soon. I'm looking forward to writing more on it, as I'm just getting to my favorite part of the story. If you haven't read it yet, please check it out. A tremendous thank you for the harsh but good criticism at DLP that helped forge what is here. This story started out vastly different, and without their forthright criticism, I would have grown very frustrated with it very fast. So thank you. Also, thank you to my standard Beta's who gave me feedback throughout the process of getting this story to this point: PhoenixFanatic999 and Master Odin.


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